Joe's
Joe’s
Joe’s home style hamburgers it was the place I went, everyday to eat and reflect, as those do whose job is not a true outlet for their inner creativity.
As I walked through the door and sat at my regular booth two the right of the entrance against the wall, “Home style burger hold the onions,” I heard Margie say in the background. “Joe don’t burn the fries this time.” I chuckled, I’d been saying that since the first time I came.
Margie came over and sat across from me, she was in her late twenties of early thirties, I never did figure that out, with straight brown hair below the shoulders, always in a scrunchie. Her eyes were green like mine and her short blue skirt with matching top complemented her figure immensely.
“So how’s the story comin’?” She asked looking questioningly at the scraps of paper strewn around me in an oddly organized confusion.
“Good but there’s holes, there’s always holes. Tell me should he be compassionate and caring or blood thirsty and ruthlessly cruel, the outcome’s the same?”
She answered the only way she knew from the heart “Why would he be cruel when he could be compassionate...” I smiled at her answer. “if the outcome is the same?”
“Bacon burger, the works.” came Joe’s voice from somewhere in the kitchen.
“That’s my cue, shouldn’t be much longer for that burger, Joe already started one for you.” She said and winked as she walked behind the counter.
I paused my complex thoughts to glance around the room, the usual crowd, and a few truckers with long hair and longer faces sitting on the stools smoking and talking in soothing tones. There was an elderly couple, the Johnstons, in their usual corner away from the bustle and by the side window. They saw me looking and waved, I waved back and smiled, oh to be married and still in love.
I settled back to writing and it seemed no time at all before Margie brought me my burger, I looked up and said, “Margie lets get out of here, go to Vegas and get married, right now. My brother is a pastor over there, city of sin he calls it, anyway... What-da-ya-say?”
She just giggled and went back to work a minute or so later Joe came out, just as my potato cravings began, with my fries perfectly crisped to a yellow brown.
Joe was a big man in his fifties with receding white hair. “Perfect-Joe-perfect, perfection has been accomplished, I don’t know how you do it. I was thinking I’m gonna make a character after you he’ll have a place, best fries east of the Mississippi.”
Joe smiled, he’d heard it all before, but this time... “Burned the first batch.” and he smiled again going back into the kitchen. That Joe, one funny old man.
I tipped the ketchup and it sounded heavily as the air rushed in, something inside me laughed. Hugh, perhaps I could put that in my story I jotted it down on a napkin.
My eyes began to wander looking for more catsup, Margie saw me, I motioned for her to bring some over, she did so brusquely not in the friendly way as was her custom, must be workaday stress I mused and shrugged it off.
My story was progressing fabulously. I gulped the rest of my milk, went to raise my hand but the bill was already on the table. I looked around and I was the only on lift and Margie was closing up.
“Margie how long was I out?” I said almost seriously.
“Its 10:55, almost closing time.” She seemed unhumored by my question.
“Time for me to head home a body’s got to make a living you know.” I paid and left a healthy tip on the table. I nodded to Jim but Margie was nowhere to be seen so I left, making my way through the dark streetlight world.
Jim walked back into the kitchen to clean the pots. “Margie you ought to take him up on that offer of his, he’s a right respectable kid smart and funny too, you’ll not find a combination like that in... well I don’t know how long, and single forget it.
“A good tipper too.” She thought to herself maybe... if he comes back and he’ll be back Summer’s Eye
Comments